Hey there, ‘Redheads… I’m just coming to after a combination of a humdinger of a Super Bowl and a wicked head cold. Benadryl is a hell of a drug. Yes, my nasal passages were rooting for Green Bay as they leaked green and gold all night. The rest of me was firmly behind them as well, mostly because I had $20 riding on them, but also because I picked ’em on this blog and I didn’t want to muck up my playoff prognostication streak. Congrats to the Packers and a special shout out to Kenyan Steeler fans, who are thrilled their team was finally able to win a second championship.

But the Super Bowl isn’t just about the game, it’s all of the pomp and circumstance that go along with it. Like Christina Aguilera, who looked suspiciously like Snooki in a blond wig, singing the national anthem, kinda. I wasn’t paying attention to her performance enough to catch it, but it lit up the internet like a Christmas tree, so I feel like I can expertly comment on it. I have a helpful performance hint that would’ve avoided this embarrassing flub. Rehearsal? Heavens, no. Civics class? No. Howabout you tattoo the lyrics on the inside of your eyelids, so when you’re soulfully closing your eyes to hit those unnecessary notes, you can make sure what gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. It’s not only one of the shortest, but one of the most ubiquitous songs in our culture. It goes “Happy Birthday”, then “The Star Spangled Banner”, then “Baby” by Justin Bieber. Luckily for Christina, she wasn’t the most horrendous performance of the night. That honor goes to Fergie from The Black-Eyed Peas. I’m not exactly sure, but I think when she started singing is when I started showing symptoms. I was excited for the halftime show, too, because I read an interview with Will.He.Is, and he said they were going to take it “to the next level.” Little did I know, he meant literally, as they were lowered from the top of the stadium to the…next level. What a shit show that was. The Peas are a great studio group, but as a live show, they make The Spice Girls looks like Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. Good thing they bought out the Lite-Brite aisle of Sam’s Club to help distract from the autotuned awfulness. The only real singer in the group is Fergie, who trained with the prestigious Kids Incorporated. Maybe she was just overwhelmed by the enormity of it all, or maybe her dress gave her a momentary epileptic fit, but all I know is it takes a pretty wretched performance to make me miss Axl Rose. It took some real restraint by Slash to not go upside her head with his guitar. Then, after the glowing cube heads finished prancing around the stage, Will.U.Ain’t asked the question, “Where is the love?” then “The Beginning” flashed on the jumbotron. My immediate reaction was, “Dear God, don’t let them start over again.”

The commercials, on the whole, were forgettable. It was nice to see that the pooches from The Puppy Bowl were able to score endorsement deals. Was it just me, or did every other ad have dogs in it? Could’ve been reparations from the whole Michael Vick incident. Maybe I’m just jaded, or maybe my head was too full of mucous, but nothing really stuck with me.